


Late Night Holo Dramas on Skinemax

by babzilla



Series: Lover’s Skin [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Din Djarin's Helmet Stays on During Sex, Din’s Celebrity Crush is HoloNet Sensation Banu Mennett, Dream Sequence, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Series, Pre-Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, Pre-The Mandalorian, Sexual Fantasy, Threesome, inspired by the new season, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:15:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27432625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babzilla/pseuds/babzilla
Summary: After confronting Luke Skywalker about what he believed was a set of stolenbeskar’gam, Din Djarin gets an unexpected offer...-“Watching?” Skywalker asks, licking at a syrup covered finger. “Or participating?”It takes him a moment to answer, as transfixed by the Rebel’s actions as Fett— watching as his pink tongue swipes out from between his soft looking lips, wet and shining slightly with saliva, to painstakingly clean the sticky residue from the supple leatheris glove.It’s a compelling sight, and ultimately decides him.“Participating,” he says, reaching for the catches on his armour that keep his battered cape in place.
Relationships: Boba Fett/Luke Skywalker, Din Djarin/Boba Fett, Din Djarin/Boba Fett/Luke Skywalker, Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker
Series: Lover’s Skin [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2003545
Comments: 17
Kudos: 156





	Late Night Holo Dramas on Skinemax

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Threesome where the third participant assumes the other two are an established couple. Some food play, double penetration.  
> Also maybe this doesn’t need to be said but just for my own peace of mind: this is tagged as a dream sequence/sexual fantasy— in reality neither Boba or Luke would invite a third (unknown) person into their little situation without any prior discussion.

“Whatever you did to Fett— I don’t care. But I’m not letting you keep that armour.”

Standing in the doorway of the hotel room Din’s followed him to, the Rebel doesn’t look phased in the slightest at the implied threat. A teasing smirk still plays on his lips as his sharp eyes trace the lines of Din’s _beskar’gam_. No doubt he’s comparing it to the bespoke, highly modified set of armour he had taken for himself.

Din prepares to fight. It’s not ideal— he’s already on a schedule and he has very little useful intel for engaging Skywalker in combat. His best bet would be to take the man by surprise. If he’s lucky, he can escape an Imperial Death Mark by only knocking Skywalker out long enough to take the armour back and get off this planet.

But then, cutting through the tension faster than a string of _Whistling Birds_ , a man’s voice calls out from inside Skywalker’s room, tone thick with frustration. 

“For fuck’s sake— _linibar cinarir ner kad, or’dinii! K’olar ra usenye!_ ”

He tilts his head at the words, staring down at Skywalker who tilts his head back in kind, like a nexu considering its next meal. Slowly, the Rebel raises his hand to his mouth again, carefully sucking off any remaining droplets of syrup while maintaining eye contact through Din’s T-visor with uncanny accuracy.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come inside?” Skywalker asks, his smirk widening into a grin that’s all teeth. “See for yourself that I haven’t stolen this armour?”

Normally… normally he wouldn’t even consider such a thinly veiled offer. 

But the man inside Skywalker’s room— they spoke in perfectly accented _Mando’a:_ regional, like the sigil of the Journeyman Protectors on the cuirass suggested. It had to be Fett himself, Din was sure, though they’d never met formally.

And a Mandalorian always chose their words carefully. There was no need to say things you didn’t mean.

_Get over here, or fuck off._

Well, that was clear enough.

He nods. “Alright.”

Brows raising slightly, as if surprised by his nerve, Skywalker’s grin resolves back into a smile that’s not quite coy.

“Alright,” he nods back. Turning deftly, he retreats into the room and disappears out of sight. “Close the door behind you.”

Din does as asked, engaging the locks for good measure, before he passes an assessing eye over the room. It’s nice—fitting, for the relatively upscale reputation of the inn—with two windows obviously set to filter out most of the blistering heat of the planet’s sun. A kitchenette runs along the far wall (the counter laden with several of the bags Skywalker had gathered in the marketplace), and the main space is taken up by a few chairs and a comfortable sofa with a low table. To his right is an open doorway, no doubt leading to the bedroom.

There’s mismatched packs and outerwear tossed haphazardly over the furniture—datapads and weapons mods scattered across various surfaces—and the room feels lived in by two people, despite only being a temporary place to rest.

It’s… nice.

“Gonna stand there all day, _or’dinii_?” The same voice as before calls from beyond the open door, edged with impatience.

Din goes, but stops short in the doorway to drink in the sight before him.

The bed is just as nice as the rest of the room, the covers looking soft and plush underneath the tall, muscular man laying on them, unashamed of his nudity. He’s handsome, Din can’t help but notice— with miles of deeply golden skin and an angular face set with dark features and a shadow of scruff across his jaw, appearing both perfectly manicured and effortless at the same time. He reclines on the bed, body languid and relaxed, with one arm folded behind his head and the other laying flat across his tight abs as he strokes himself, his hand lazily travelling down to grip his hard cock and then back up again.

Skywalker sits beside him, legs curled up neatly beneath him and looking oddly stately with his upright posture in the _beskar’gam_ next to the casual sprawl of the naked man. He’s holding a plate of honeycakes in his off-hand, the other once again holding one of the sweet treats— the dense cake dripping with syrup and leaving sticky trails all over his glove. The Rebel smiles, looking sweet if not for how his _jai’galaar_ eyes could easily pin a man to the wall.

Safe behind his helmet, Din licks his lips at the picture the two of them make, swallowing thickly as he catalogues every inch of bared skin between them; the curves of their bodies beside each other— _beskar’gam_ besides bared flesh.

“You got a name, _or’dinii_?” Boba Fett asks, smirking as wickedly as his partner.

“Call me Djarin,” he answers easily enough, forgoing his usual hesitance with another countryman present, even if he clearly didn’t follow the Creed.

“Fett,” the other _Mando’ade_ says in return, tilting his chin up in acknowledgement.

“You can call me Skywalker,” the Rebel says, shrugging a shoulder and taking another bite of honeycake, but otherwise entirely focused on the interplay between the two Mandalorians.

The introductions over with, Din stands slightly awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of how to proceed and waiting for a signal from either of the men on the bed, both of whom seem perfectly content to watch him squirm.

“Watching?” Skywalker asks, licking at a syrup covered finger. “Or participating?”

It takes him a moment to answer, as transfixed by the Rebel’s actions as Fett— watching as his pink tongue swipes out from between his soft looking lips, wet and shining slightly with saliva, to painstakingly clean the sticky residue from the supple leatheris glove. 

It’s a compelling sight, and ultimately decides him.

“Participating,” he says, reaching for the catches on his armour that keep his battered cape in place.

He watches as Skywalker makes a noise of interest and tilts his body until his legs naturally uncurl, allowing him to lay down beside Fett as he takes another portion from the plate of honeycakes still held steady in his hand. Skywalker watches with open interest as Din slowly divests himself of his cape and bandolier, loosening his vambraces so he can pull off his gloves, but Fett only has eyes for the Rebel.

Unholstering his blasters carefully to lay them aside on a low vanity table, he stares—once again transfixed—as Fett takes hold of the Rebel’s wrist, pulling him close until he looks away from Din. With deliberate slowness, Fett pulls Skywalker down until their lips meet, the soft fall of the Rebel’s blond hair shadowing the bounty hunter’s face. 

They take their time, faces tilted together as Fett chases the sweetness lingering on Skywalker’s lips, tongue tracing a full bottom lip. And, suitably distracted, Din watches silently as the lovers pull away to catch their breath, Fett guiding the Rebel’s hand down to take the last bite of honeycake for himself, leaving only sticky syrup on the Rebel’s fingers. 

Still breathing heavily, Skywalker lets his lover guide his hand back up to his mouth, lets him manoeuvre his hand as he obediently rolls his tongue around his own fingers. He sucks on the digits individually as Fett thrusts them slowly into his mouth, gently rocking his entire body with the motion as his cheeks darken with a dusky flush.

He knows he should be doing something, but Din can’t quite bring himself to move as he watches Fett let go of the Rebel’s wrist to take another square of honeycake for himself. But the other bounty hunter only seems interested in feeding it to Skywalker, slowly letting the Rebel nibble around his fingers until there’s nothing left but the syrup on Fett’s fingers.

And then the maddening game starts again with Skywalker sucking Fett’s fingers into his mouth, his lips spit-slick and shining in the filtered afternoon sunlight.

Unable to stand as a silent observer for a moment longer, Din hurriedly finishes pulling off his gloves, and whips off his belt as well for good measure, as he keeps his eyes on the way Fett presses down on the Rebel’s tongue with his middle and ring fingers, pushing Skywalker’s mouth to open wider. He tilts his head at how the younger man allows it, the tip of his tongue darting out to tease at the length of the two digits in his mouth, and decides that he very much wants to try that for himself as he climbs onto the bed.

“Sure took your time, _Djarin_ ,” the other bounty hunter drawls lowly even as his attention stays fixed on the Rebel that’s looking right back at him. 

He doesn’t respond to the idle taunt, too focused on how those _jai’gaalar_ eyes flick over to him as he crawls up the side of the bed, leaning over Fett’s relaxed form to cup Skywalker’s face. He drags a calloused thumb over the soft skin of a cheek, following the gentle curve until he can brush the corner of his lips and then ever so slowly hook his thumb inside the wet heat of the Rebel’s mouth.

Din supposes that with a Mandalorian lover, Skywalker is practiced at meeting someone’s eyes despite a dark visor in the way, but the way that the Rebel seems to unerringly maintain eye contact affects him more than he can fully articulate. It’s certainly something that he hadn’t contemplated before, but there’s a level of intimacy in knowing that even through the armour, someone _sees_ you.

It’s a feeling he’s only ever experienced among the Covert, and receiving it from an outsider is… an entirely different sensation.

Barely paying attention to how Fett withdraws his fingers and moves away, Din draws closer as he watches how the Rebel seals his lips around his thumb, swirling his tongue delicately around the tip. Still maintaining eye contact, Skywalker takes hold of Din’s wrist, bobbing his head slowly as he sucks on his thumb, seeming entirely focused on the task and happy to continue that way for as long as Din would let him.

It’s Fett that snaps him out of his stupor, slapping the back of his hand against Din’s pauldron and ushering him back to open up more space between them before he catches Skywalker’s eyes and wordlessly tilts his head down to Din’s crotch. The Rebel releases Din’s hand with an easy smile, and leans forward to lay a hand on his hip.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Skywalker asks, peeking up at him with those bright eyes.

“Go ahead,” he nods, settling his weight comfortably on his knees and watching intently as the blond expertly finds the fastenings on his undersuit and pulls out Din’s still soft cock with minimal fuss, wrapping a slick hand around the shaft and sucking the tip into his mouth.

Din hisses at the sensation of having both the cool dampness of the leatheris and the wet heat of the Rebel’s mouth against his cock, his hips twitching forward before he can stop himself. The blond hums in response, taking more of Din’s slowly hardening cock into his mouth to get it good and wet.

Behind the Rebel, Fett has loosened his flight-suit to expose the naked curve of the blond’s ass, but Din is currently much more interested in the way Skywalker tilts his head to look up at him while he lays messy kisses down the side of his cock, stroking steadily at the hard length of it when he takes the tip into his mouth again. Unable to resist, Din threads his fingers through the Rebel’s golden hair, tugging on the soft strands and guiding his head down further until he’s gagging on the entire length of him, his eyelashes fluttering and tongue forced into stillness against Din’s cock.

Easing off when the blond tugs on his undersuit, Din slowly strokes his hand through the Rebel’s hair as he catches his breath, his lips still parted and shiny with spit. Laying another wet kiss on the tip of his cock, Skywalker takes a look over his shoulder at Fett, wordlessly communicating something with his lover before he arranges himself more comfortably in front of Din, on his hands and knees. Then, with one last smirk up at Din, the blond swallows him down again.

Starting slow, Skywalker hollows out his cheeks as he smoothly sucks on Din’s cock, letting his tongue tease along the swell of his glans, across the thick vein running down the underside of his thick length. He leaves a mess as he goes, saliva and pre-cum smeared across his lips and cheeks as he pulls off for breath, letting Din’s member rest against his face before he goes back for more.

When Fett starts thrusting into him from behind, the Rebel brings both of his hands up to grab on to the edge of Din’s thigh plates—anchoring himself—and then he imitates his lover’s deep, steady strokes as he takes Din’s cock down his throat, all the way until the blond’s chin brushes against his balls. Cursing quietly, Din brushes Skywalker’s hair back so he has an unobstructed view when the Rebel squeezes his eyes shut, moaning around his cock when Fett picks up speed behind him.

Exchanging a look with the other Mandalorian across the bed, Din lets his hand rest on the back of Skywalker’s head again as he thrusts his hips forward, fucking his mouth as he likes. The Rebel doesn’t protest, his eyes flashing up at him before he closes them peacefully, content to let Din control the pace. 

For all that he makes no protest when they move over him, taking all that they’ve got to give him, Skywalker’s not a passive participant by any means; not with how he leverages himself against Din’s cuisse to thrust back against Fett, drawing short but hard-won grunts out of his lover. Or how he buries his face in Din’s pelvis, slowly moving his head from side to side and all but taking Din’s breath away at the impossible heat of his mouth, the tight pressure of his throat.

The blond moans freely as the two Mandalorians work him over, eventually shaking off Din’s hand and pulling off his cock with a sharp “Ah!” when Fett snaps his hips forward with renewed force, gripping tightly at the bunched up material of his flight-suit and pulling him back onto his cock without care.

Red-faced and panting, Skywalker tucks his face into Din’s belly, leaving wet marks on the armour weave of his gambeson, one hand gripping desperately at his cuisse while the other slips off his thigh, dislodged by Fett’s hard and fast rhythm. Din takes hold of it, squeezing tight and drawing those _jai’galaar_ eyes back to him. They’re still as sharp as ever, it seems, despite how his pupils are blown wide and inky dark, dragging him in as the blond moans shamelessly against the Mandalorian as his lover fucks him.

Din grunts, speaking before he can stop himself. “I want to fuck him.”

“What?” Fett laughs, not slowing down for a second. “His mouth not enough for you?”

“No,” he answers, still caught by those bright eyes staring up at him.

Fett apparently thinks this is the height of comedy, laughing deeply as he pulls out all at once; drawing a yelp out of Skywalker as he hauls him up to hold the Rebel against his chest, and leaving Din feeling cold where the blond had been pressed against him.

“What do you think?” Fett asks his lover, swiping a thumb across a swollen bottom lip, smeared liberally with a mixture of pre-cum and saliva. “You want him to fuck you?”

“Yes,” Skywalker answers hoarsely, his eyes heavy-lidded as he stares back at Fett, pulling him in for a filthy kiss as Din watched.

When Fett draws back from his lover, the scar carved around his eye socket crinkles with his smirk.

“Alright, then,” he agrees, the sharp slant of his mouth unmistakably taunting as he nods at Din before gently manoeuvring his lover until he can lay back on the bed again. 

With Skywalker on top of him, Fett tugs harshly at the flight-suit, further exposing the tops of the Rebel’s thighs and trapping his legs against his own torso, leaving his lover open and exposed to Din’s appreciative gaze. When the other bounty hunter bends his knees, boxing Skywalker in even further, Din can see that Fett’s ass is also glistening with lube.

Din doesn’t need a clearer invitation than that, and he surges forward to settle between the other Mandalorian’s thighs, almost unbalancing in his haste. The Rebel’s perfectly round ass cheeks are soft under his touch, and his dick—achingly hard and slick with saliva—slides into him without resistance, sinking in until his hips are flush against the Rebel’s ass and dragging a groan out of both of them.

Sliding his hands around the blond’s hips, digging his fingers into the soft flesh at the juncture of his thighs, Din allows himself to take his time, watching the slow glide of his hard cock plunging in and out of the Rebel’s slick, welcoming hole. Skywalker whimpers softly at every stroke, and he can hear Fett whispering to him in Mando’a, alternately sweet and filthy. 

He wonders if Skywalker can understand. If he knows what his lover is saying, what it means.

As it is, hearing the little praises is almost too much for _Din_ , and he can’t keep his patience forever. Picking up the pace and thrusting inside Skywalker almost recklessly, his world narrows down to the tight clench of muscle around his cock, the desperate little cries from the Rebel growing in volume. All he can think about is thrusting deeper and deeper into him, trying to _feel_ him.

The Rebel is fully resting his weight on Fett now, not even making an attempt to hold himself up, to reciprocate in any way he could from his prone position. He takes it all beautifully, and Din can’t help himself; going faster and faster as if in a trance until Fett is slapping at his hip, pulling him back to the world outside of that slick, velvet heat—

Something beeps behind him.

He ignores it, tilting his head to look at Fett, idly stroking at the Rebel’s ass and hips in apology for the red fingerprints he’d left behind.

“My turn,” Fett says simply, poking at his hip again until Din guides his cock out of Skywalker’s ass, shrugging as he settles back on the balls of his feet while stroking his cock, eager for his next turn.

He watches the other Mandalorian thrust up into the blond in one motion, earning a ragged shout from his lover, before he takes hold of Skywalker’s hips, pressing on the red marks Din had left behind. They would surely bruise, and he indulges for a moment: wondering who the Rebel would remember the next time he saw the marks on his skin.

With his possessive hold on Skywalker’s hips, Fett moves his lover up and down on his cock, his powerful arms glistening in the afternoon light as he bore his lover’s weight with no apparent difficulty. Din can still see the other bounty hunter’s ass, primed and ready, and decides he doesn’t want to wait for his next turn.

Something beeps in the distance and—

Din groans as he moves his hips in short, shallow thrusts, watching as more and more of his thick length is taken in by Fett’s ass, the hitching in the other bounty hunter’s breaths the only indication that he was feeling any strain over the new arrangement.

“Just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Fett chuckles, sounding out of breath but unwilling to concede on any front; not slowing down for a moment and still determinedly driving his cock into Skywalker’s ass with his hands splayed over the blond’s hips.

“Not really,” Din answers back blithely, eliciting a gasp from Skywalker that might have been a laugh.

Fett’s none too pleased about that however, and he grunts, withdrawing one hand from Skywalker’s hips to grip at his face, kissing him fiercely and swallowing his lover’s breathless gasps. Din struggles to focus at the sight; not knowing where to look as he continues to roll his hips forward, his thoughts growing hazy.

“He’s a rude little thing,” Fett says when he finally pulls away, his mouth red and shiny as he catches Din’s eyes over Skywalker’s shoulder. 

“Think he needs to be taught a lesson?” The other bounty hunter asks, lifting his hips tellingly and dislodging Din’s cock as something beeps—

“Yes,” he agrees, swallowing thickly as Fett holds the Rebel still, waiting patiently as the head of Din’s cock nudges gently at Skywalker’s hole, bumping up against Fett’s own hard member.

There’s a few moments of fumbling, desperate as they are to get moving but held back by the physical difficulty of their goal, before Skywalker finally moans, slapping Fett’s hand away and reaching down between their bodies until his own fingers probe at his ass, dipping in beside his lover’s cock. He whimpers quietly as he works his fingers inside himself, hips twitching as if he doesn’t know whether to sink down further on the length of his lover’s cock and his own fingers, or to pull away completely.

“Have to do everything myself,” he huffs, burying his laugh against his lover’s neck when Fett pinches his thigh in reproach. “Now, do it now—”

Eagerly, he leans forward, resting his weight on one of Fett’s thighs as he slowly lets gravity do the work for him until the head of his cock breaches the tight ring of muscle. Din groans, long and low, as his cock slides home— the blond’s body so tight and so warm, and Fett’s cock so hard against his own—

“Fuck—” his hips twitch involuntarily, the muscles in his thighs jumping under the effort to keep himself still. “Fuck—!”

Beneath him, Skywalker turns his head to look at him over his shoulder, his mouth parted, his cheeks flushed with colour, and his eyes— looking at him with the focus of a hunter, like promises of danger—

Fett groans, his member jerking beside Din’s, as if he knows what the other Mandalorian is thinking and agrees—

And Din lets himself slide in deeper, settles more of his weight onto Fett, growls low and guttural as his own cock jerks when he grinds his hips against Skywalker’s ass. Between them, the blond cries out again, his back arching, and he doesn’t know where their pleasure ends and his begins, all of it melding into a blistering hot rush, coursing through his body and the beeping continues, the tone becoming insistent—

Din jerks away in frustration, trying to identify the sound—

And wakes up all at once, blinking stupidly at the _Razor Crest_ ’s flashing console, his heart beating fast.

The sound is from the hyperspace warning—he’s almost reached Nevarro—and shaking himself further into wakefulness, he flips the necessary switches to take the ship out of hyperspace smoothly, gripping the control yoke and adjusting the throttle. He ignores the uncomfortable heat beneath his codpiece, shifting in his seat as he breathes deeply through his nose, trying to regulate his breathing and steady himself.

He’s not altogether successful, his attention quickly drifting from the rote task of getting the _Crest_ down to the planet’s surface.

The unfortunate dream has been plaguing him for some time now, though it’s the first time that his treacherous unconscious mind has sought to unmask Boba Fett— usually content to keep the mystery of his face locked behind the man’s helmet. If his sexually frustrated imagination had seen fit to substitute HoloNet sensation Banu Mennett’s visage for Fett’s, well…

It was probably time for Din to lay off the late night HoloNet dramas.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Notes: 
> 
> Translation, the same as the last part of this series, thanks to Zarra_Rous: a gratuitous Mando’a euphemism for getting your dick wet?
> 
> _linibar cinarir ner kad, or’dinii - need to clean my sword, moron_
> 
> Some added phrasing from Wookieepedia and mandoa.org of Boba basically very rudely saying get your ass in here or fuck off:
> 
> _k’olar ra usenye - come here immediately or go away_
> 
> —
> 
> Once again, I am begging you to pretend I updated something else before posting this.
> 
> If you see any errors, let me know 😩


End file.
